


burning, shining, blinding

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, edward elric is a burning star and he refuses to fall alone, really they are just two broken boys trying to carve out a form of home in each other, roy mustang is a martyr desperately craving forgiveness for his sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: Ed's falling. He can feel it in his bones, in the blood running through his veins and simmering beneath his skin. He's falling - crashing and burning - and, as hard as he tries to hide it, he can see Mustang is too. He thinks:meet me in the middle. Thinks:we don't both have to face damnation alone.





	burning, shining, blinding

**Author's Note:**

> I..I never thought in a million years that i would fall into this ship, much less write content for it. 3k worth! What the actual heck. This was not supposed to be this long, it started out as less than 200 words and I thought it'd get to a max of 1500. I was wrong. I was consumed by rainjoy's fics recently and sutler's fics too, so i blame those. Unhealthy relationship beyond this point, and though it says all media types, this is really meant for the '03 versions. Because Ed and Roy's relationship in that adaptation, woho. Anyway, enjoy! There should be more fic coming for this fandom, but probably no shipping fic. Prepare for sad gen fic, my favorite! Still can't believe i wrote this, its so different from my usual stuff, but oh well! I own nothing, enjoy!

Mustang stares at him blankly, and says, calmly, clearly, perfectly composed: "Go home, Fullmetal."

And Ed just grins at him, sharp teeth and leftover blood from his previous fight slipping out and blending with saliva; gaze sharp and steady, looking at Roy like he can see right through him, beneath the man's mask and all the ways around it. Stares at him like he knows what he’s really thinking, before he turns and walks out the door, slamming it behind him.

.

Ed's falling. He can feel it in his bones, in the blood running through his veins and simmering beneath his skin. He's falling - crashing and burning - and, as hard as he tries to hide it, he can see Mustang is too. He thinks:  _ meet me in the middle _ . Thinks:  _ we don't both have to face damnation alone. _

Because he needs something -  _ because the nightmares get to be too much, blood and alchemy and having to watch as his favorite piece of himself twists his brother until he's inside out and unrecognizable, and little girls become dogs while little boy’s lose their mother twice, once by fate, once by their own hands. And Al is always awake in the other room, so he has to keep his retching quiet afterwards because how can he even begin to explain _ \- to make it all go away, even for just a second, and he thinks Mustang does too.

.

“You don't even know what it is you're offering.” Roy manages, hands intertwined before him on the desk, the only object separating them, and his voice comes out smooth and much more calm than his elevated heart rate -  _ padam padam padam _ \- will allow him to feel, but Ed just shrugs. Calm and light, like he doesn't realize the significance of what he has offered. 

Like it doesn't matter that they could both go down for this, like he doesn't realize that if anyone was to hear about his proposal Alphonse could kiss the chances of ever seeing - much less living inside of - his body again goodbye. Like he doesn't see what exactly he’s risking: what they would both be risking. 

_(_ _Yellow eyes and golden hair and a smile with too many teeth in it, usually chaotic and fierce - biting and defensive, wild and rabid: like a wolf, really - but also capable of being shy and so temptingly sweet-)_

__

“Maybe not,” Ed allows, leaning back on his heels and tilting his head gently to the side before letting his smirk deepen into something devastating, “but I could learn.”

And something in Roy’s stomach-

(Sixteen and eyes like a man who’s been to war and back. Dead little girls and a brother missing a body -  _ sixteen _ \- the shadow of a mother’s soul lingering in the dark around every turn.  _ Sixteen  _ and the voices of already too many dead people, friends and family and loved ones, haunting dreams turned nightmares.  _ Sixteen _ and alone besides a brother who he still thinks blames him and a best friend hours and miles away.  _ Sixteen _ and hungry for something he doesn't know how to name and terrifyingly desperate for a mindless distraction.)

-falls and freezes before it falls again. 

“Go home, Fullmetal,” he says softly, ignoring how the boy’s - no, man. No child has eyes as old as those - smirk turns to a sneer and fiery eyes go cold, “Alphonse will be missing you.”

When the office door slams closed, a door in his mind - dusty and previously sealed by over a dozen locks - cracks open and he closes his eyes as the pens on his desk rock. 

.

When he dreams there is red leather where blood once was, smelling of motor oil and sweat when he gets close enough to it, and flickers of golden eyes over mountains of desert sand. 

Bodies surround him, lying lifeless in the sand with no one left to bury them. 

“Are you coming, sir?” Hawkeye asks, and her hands are soaked in blood and it drips as she holds her gun over her shoulder. 

Roy nods, and blue eyed soldiers in blue Amestris uniforms grunt in greeting as they pass him. He can still hear Kimblee out in what remains of the small village, and the sounds of buildings collapsing. 

“Of course.” He murmurs, skin warming from the yellow glow of the desert sun. 

He swears that when the wind blows by his ear, he hears a young man’s laugh. 

.

Most times, Roy can only stare at him when he marches into his office - the boy alchemist, the prodigy, the alchemist of the people, an arrogant boy who committed the taboo - golden hair cascading down his back tied into a braid, a golden rope shining across his blood red coat, sharp and swaying whenever he fights. (And when he does fight it's like an animal: desperate and vicious and dirty but amazing to witness every time.) 

He’s silver limbs where flesh should be, so much more vicious and dangerous, uncontrollable and unpredictable, than any sixteen year old should be. Most times the boy’s a snarling mess, fighting tooth and nail for everything, desperate but too prideful to show it, and pleading and hoping with such childish faith.

The contrast is so great that sometimes all Roy can do is stare and try not to blanch. To catch himself before he asks, _who are you today?_ _The boy who couldn't save a little girl? The boy who lost his brother’s body trying to save his family? The wild fighter? The rouge? Just another dog of the military with its collar pulled too tight? The scared little boy with a man's eyes?_

But then Ed walks closer, leans his body against his desk, whispers, “Still thinking about it, Colonel?” And Roy doesn't act - can't think - only stares until Ed backs down, falls back onto his couch with a scoff and dry laugh, and he prays the boy before him doesn't see how close his resolve is to dissolving. 

.

_ Sixteen, _ his brain mutters,  _ sixteen and your subordinate. Can you imagine the scandal? Can you-  _

_ But I don't care _ , a piece of him he’s too tired to bury sighs. The door in his mind, once locked and sealed, has been blown wide open. Protection shattered by sharp eyes the color of a precious metal and a daring tongue acting as a dagger, and want - desire and dependency shifting and blending together in a hazy mist, the promise of escape ( _ blood and burning flesh and it was never supposed to be this, children with charred faces crying all around before going up in a furious whirl of orange and red _ ) hidden within an otherwise ignorant offer - reigns careless and free.

_I know,_ a part of him he no longer has control over whispers, _and he knows and I-_ _I don't care._

Sleep is a slippery mistress and very hard to come by these days - nightmares and memories are hard to decipher between when they are both so similar, and most nights it doesn't even feel like he’s slept: instead like he has stayed up remembering everything all night long, and others it's like he never really wakes up at all. And now there’s blonde in between the red. A golden braid swaying and a mouthful of teeth just, smiling. And then, gold eyes wide with wonder as flames descend on them and Roy can’t even move or scream to warn him - but after nearly ten years he is used to it.

.

The nightmares get worse and he can't remember the last time he was able to hold down a meal, but when Ed waltzes into his office and  _ looks _ at him - like he can see right through him, see the sleep he’s missed and the hours he's spent thinking, and trying so hard not to, about golden hair and a nearly red stained grin - he grits his teeth until he is sure he has wore them down and says, “No.” Firm and quiet and no louder than a whisper, but he gets in the first word: the ending word. Because he won't give Ed a chance to speak - to try to persuade him along with his heart and the fragments of his mind his heart has won over to its side  - when he may actually give, and easily at that.

( _ Do you know just how much control you steal from me? How much of me you have stolen with no knowledge of doing so, and with no intention of returning the pieces you have unjustly taken?) _

Ed scoffs, takes a seat and kicks his boots up onto Roy’s desk before he can utter a word in protest, and says, “I’ve got a little time, Colonel, so I'll play your game.” He stretches and smirks, all fake confidence and false bravado attempting to mask ghostly pale skin and dull eyes with growing dark bags beneath them, again and Roy uses whatever self control he has left to keep his face blank and hands folded neatly on his desk, inches away from black leather boots, while resisting the urge to knock them off. 

“So,” the yellow eyes demon before him begins, “what d’ya got for me today, Colonel? 

.

Maes looks at him, calculating and warm and confused, and asks in a whisper, "What are you doing, Roy?"   
  
And he wants to say so much but the words get stuck in his throat. He wants to say,  _ I'm so sorry. I still have our goal in mind. But there's a beast wearing the form of a golden boy ruling my heart and by default my body and mind. Everywhere I look is gold and him and it's too late to turn back now.  _ __  
  
He wants to say it, let the words loose and into the mind of the only person in the world to ever know Roy as well - and nearly better - than himself. He wants to say so much and it all fights to get out first. But when he opens his mouth only air comes out. A single  __ puff that has him wanting to rip his hair out. 

And Maes smiles at him, like he knows. Like he expected it; like he understands. And honestly, he probably does.

(Late night talks in the dorms and, “Roy I just met the most amazing woman and-”

“Oh my god, Roy, I just- there aren't words and-”

“I-I think it's love, Roy, and don't you give me that look! Something in my chest just shifted, like, like it was making room for her. Or revealing and cleaning the room it had been keeping for her all along…”

“There just, there aren't words Roy, her eyes! And her smile and so much, I think I got a photo actually, give me a second-!”

And the many many late night talks of doting and drinks afterwards as more and more pictures began to pile up on the desk.)

Roy wets his dry mouth and tries to erase the lingering gold from his vision, and manages to choke out a low, soft breath, "I don't know."

And it’s not the answer either of them are hoping for, but it’s the one they have.    
  
Maes keeps staring, eyes glazed and expression unmoving, and Roy wants to ask so much -  _ is this what you were talking about, all those nights you spent babbling on like an idiot? -  _ but before he can Hughes' mouth turns up into a soft smile, "You'll figure it out." He says, but when he opens his mouth blood is dripping out and there are maggots in his eyes.

And Roy takes a moment to be thankful that when he screams at least it’s silent. 

.

When Ed walks into his office for the fifth time since the initial offer - gold and red blending, and making him look like the kind of old god many of the desert towns they have visited would worship. He spares a thought for Lior, pictures Ed as a sun god: radiant, bold, and blinding - he smiles, unsure and his usual act of false confidence is absent, and something in Roy cracks, breaks, before it begins to shatter. 

Ed looks at him, sharp golden eyes peaking out from yellow hair and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Al and I had a fight.” a small sardonic smile dressing his lips.

His head is bleeding - but Roy knows better than to suspect Alphonse, knows how reckless the older blonde can be, how reckless he usually is- back hunched, shoulders tense, body unconsciously positioned for a fight, but his eyes are tired. 

It doesn't take a genius to guess what the fight was about; not with prior knowledge of the brothers that he has, not when he knows Ed’s desperation to set his brother right again outweighs any other moral standing that Alphonse still seems to be holding onto. It always seems to come down to that, too: how Ed would give just about anything for his brother, and while Alphonse would just the same, Alphonse does have a bit more self preservation than Ed. And well, isn't that a chilling thought. Even more so when he stares into the glazed yellow eyes across from him, and sees their fire dulling in the worst of ways. 

The office is empty but for the two of them, and Ed’s still smiling, wary and tired and hungry, and in the midst of something inside of his shattering: something also gives. He feels the moment he lets himself slip, and he knows that there is nothing he can do now but to enjoy the fall. And by the look in Ed’s eyes, surprised and hungry and so much (he wants to call it thankfulness, but it doesn't seem right) that it nearly makes his stomach fall again, Roy guesses he sees it too.

Absently, when the boy claps and seals his office doors shut and begins to walk closer, he wonder when his want, need, began to outgrow his guilt.

Because he sees it now. How they're both falling: hard and fast and bound to destroy anything in their path. Burning up and bound to scorch anything and everything in their path. Annihilate the innocent people In their way: the ones who helped; the ones who will just be too close when they finally crack the last time: finally face the last fracture.

When they go from broke to shattered, that the ones they care about will be the collateral. There's always collateral, you always loose the ones you wished so damn hard you hadn't. 

So when Ed walks closer and the light from the window refracts off of everything and the room glows gold and red and is all but consumed by the boy before him, and offers - for the fifth time, and Roy’s dreams are getting worse and the body counts are piling up around them, blonde always seems to be accompanied by blood and every report gets more vague and catastrophic and deadlier than the last - when he grins and grins and the scars and scratches on his face only serve to make him seem older. 

When the blood from his hair leaks onto his face and drips down his brow. When he makes his voice a hoarse whisper when he says, "So, how about it, Colonel?" Something between them snaps, ignites: burning and uncontrollable. 

Roy wants to call it a flame, with how quick it is to burn and spread and destroy everything in its path - but he is better at controlling fire than whatever this between them is. 

Roy wishes, more than anything that he wasn't this weak. That he hadn't fallen so far so quick, burnt up quite so fast, that this blonde boy in front of him - this devil: too young to know what's good for him, too blinded by what he thinks he wants to even attempt to see - could stop and think rationally like the rest of them for once in his damn life. Stop trying so hard to break every rule, test every boundary, push and push until he just can't anymore: until he or the one he's pushing breaks. 

He wishes Ed would stop being such an oblivious genius, that he'd stop looking for the complicated answers to simple problems. That he had better sense than to ask a man as weak as him such a question. 

_ (Push push push _ .) 

Most of all, Roy wishes he still had the strength to say no. 

But there's a hurricane in front of him, tearing through all of his defenses in one angry sweep, clawing its way into his lap. All golden hair with the sun refracting off of everything and then he leans in and with a small pleading " _ Please _ ." carving out his own place in Roy’s body with one word, and leaving wreckage in the ruin. 

_ Oh how you've broken me,  _ Roy thinks, already gasping and broken open, sliced in half and bared. 

They fall together. Two soldiers both bruised and bloodied from fighting different wars, and he wants to laugh at the thought almost, but instead he lets the truth of it fade away, stain his skin and mark him before it fades. 

_ I'm sorry _ , he thinks as hands run up his sides and he does nothing to stop them. Shaking fingers-  _ desperation _ , he places, and the thought makes him sick - begin to pull at the collar of his coat, force him down into a spiral of untamed teeth and  _ heat heat heat.  _

_ I'm sorry,  _ he thinks, but can't make the words rise up in his throat and out of his mouth. So he tries to convey it through the touch, hands roaming over red coat and through golden hair.  _ I'm so sorry _ , his mind whispers against the throat of boy sitting in his lap, silence in the midst of chaos.  _ I hope one day you can forgive me.  _

And Ed thinks:  _ Shut up _ . His thoughts turning thick, heat flooding everywhere and mind hazy - Nina’s face fading away and the thing they brought back crawling slips back into the shadows of his mind - from how consuming it all is,  _ shut up. Stop thinking, and just,  _ he grips the bastard’s collar tighter like he’s trying to meld them together, erase the solemn and resigned look on Mustang’s face, to block the rest of it out, until it's just the two of them and  _ heat heat heat.  _

_ Just let me have this,  _ he thinks and maybe it's selfish but for once he doesn't care. He’s been selfish his whole life - always wanted too much, more than people and things can give: a live mother, present father, healthy and whole brother, and every time he loses them, and most of the time he knows it's his own fault. Knows that's he’s poison and will end up dying for his brother attempting to correct his own mistake and restore Al to everything he deserves to be. But this, this is sacred, consuming and warm and blurring every line he’s ever had.

_ Come on you bastard, _ he thinks, gripping tighter and moving faster, desperation rising up from places he didn't even know he had buried it and taking hold,  _ I don't want to fall alone.  _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated, and i am rhymesofblue on tumblr if you wanna talk prompts! Fair warning though, i typically write gen!


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